


cherry liquor

by jisungtinydick



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Cutting, Depression, Heavy Angst, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, but not really, i would never wish this on jisung i hope hes doing okay, literally just me venting after a terrible day, pls do not read if ur vulnerable or this tiggers u!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisungtinydick/pseuds/jisungtinydick
Summary: jisung’s always the one laughing boisterously loud at lunch, the one cracking lame jokes, never taking life seriously.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	cherry liquor

**Author's Note:**

> please do not read this if you struggle from depression/anxiety and you know it will trigger you. i needed to get this out of my system somehow and this seemed like an option.
> 
> i know i said i won't be publishing any works frequently and i still stand by that! if you for some reason like my tiny fics you're gonna be waiting a long time for the next one, buddy :(

he lets the sharp crystal droplets trickle down his cinnamon skin – doesn’t bother wiping them away just so fresh ones can take their place. it’s disgusting to feel the stickiness of the stains cling to his cheeks like honey to a beehive and a chuckle escapes his red, broken lips.

honey, huh? nothing about this is sweet, no matter how hard anyone attempts to sugar-coat it. fucking hell, he should just get rid of himself to sort all his (and everyone else’s) problems out because when it comes down to it, he fucked up, just like he always does.

exactly _how_ doesn’t matter because the echoing voices in his head won’t let him think, chanting over and over again that he fucked up, he fucked up, he-

suddenly jisung’s got his left hand digging into one of his blazer’s front pockets; his mum didn’t empty it this time because the break was only meant to last a week. three months later, and he’s holding the little yellow container again.

it’s from one of those kinder eggs, except it’s from a year ago and he gave the actual chocolate to hyunjin, the toy that came inside, he gave to jeongin. leaving him with just the ill-coloured cylinder, small enough to be hidden easily in one hand. he all too familiarly clasps it tight between his fingers as he heads to the bathroom - his mum has been screaming at him to “take that fucking shower already!" anyway.

up until a week ago, the bulb in their uncomfortably narrow shower space was completely dead, but surprise! it sparked to life out of fucking nowhere, and now jisung's not allowed to wash with it turned off if he doesn’t want to get beaten. he still has no idea what the big deal is but no way in hell is he going to voice that to his mum.

instead, he strips himself of his baggy clothes and lets the water warm up as he makes an incredibly poor attempt to slow down his breathing. when he steps under the harsh downpour of the showerhead, that’s when he finally pops open the item he so pathetically grabbed hold of.

squeezing onto one of the four contents in between his right index and thumb, he pauses. it’s funny that he placed them in something previously containing a harmless child’s toy. jisung’s always the one laughing boisterously loud at lunch, the one cracking lame jokes, never taking life seriously – the childish one. the juxtaposition between that and what he’s about to do makes it all the more bitter, but then again, the fake identity means he can do this without anyone getting in his way, so he can’t really complain.

the blade reflects the light from above him and he hates that he can see his body as he makes the first cut into his thigh. it’s been months since he last did this but that cinnamon skin pierces the exact same as it did the first time, the only difference is now he can see the faded lines from the past quickly drown under the new cherry liquor.

the temperature is so fucking hot and each boiling drop of water that mixes with his blood creates a whole other pain by itself and it hurts so bad, it hurts so immensely bad – so he keeps going. follows through with a second and a third cut and just continues to slice through his body and he doesn’t know if he’s still crying or if it’s just the shower now.

has he already drained himself of every millilitre of those crystal droplets just like he’s doing with his blood? how much blood has he lost now? will he be able to breathe after this? shit does he even _want_ to breathe anymore? fuck fuck fuck.

the buzzing sound always comes around now though, so although he’s seeing black spots instead of a bathroom; although it takes him seven tries to stand up from the bottom of the shower floor; he’s completely fine. he's fine as he dries himself off with a towel although he winces, and he's fine as he puts his pyjamas on although the friction is unbearable. he’s smiling as he picks up the group video chat, so he’s fine. even if that smile doesn’t exactly reach his ears or make the edges of his eyes crinkle.

he's fine.


End file.
